Now there’s a storm front coming over me
High winds, choppy sea
Don’t know how long I can stay afloat
A chocoholic in a sinking boat.
“Sinking”
Written by Heather Wells
“So there you go,” I say to Pete, as we sit at the sticky table in the back of the Stoned Crow after work. “There’s your motive, plain as day.”
A glance at the security guard’s face reveals that he’s at least as confused as Magda. “What?” they both say at the same time.
“That’s why he killed her,” I explain patiently. “Lindsay was going around, shooting her mouth off to her friends about his drug dealing. He had to silence her, or risk getting caught eventually.”
“You don’t have to cut someone’s head off just to shut them up,” Magda says indignantly.
“Yeah,” Pete agrees. “I mean, murder’s pretty extreme, don’t you think? Just because your girlfriend’s a little gossipy, you don’t have to kill her.”
“Maybe he killed her as a warning,” Sarah says, from the bar where she’s sitting watching a college basketball game on one of the overhead television sets. “To his other customers. Warning them to keep their mouths shut, or suffer a similar fate. Oh, Jesus! Charging! CHARGING! Is the ref blind?”
“Maybe,” Pete says, poking at the microwaved burrito he picked up in the deli down the street. But that’s the price you have to pay when the cafeteria at your place of work is shut down again so forensic teams can extract body parts from the kitchen slop sink. The burrito is the first thing Pete’s had a chance to eat since breakfast. The beer and popcorn I’m currently enjoying is mine. “Or maybe it was just the kind of thing a sick pervert like Winer thinks is funny.”
“We don’t know for sure it was the Winer boy,” Magda points out.
Both Pete and I stare at her.
“Well,” she says, “you don’t. Just because that girl said he was the one Lindsay was supposed to meet doesn’t mean he was the one who did meet her. You heard what the detective said.”
“He said we should mind our own business,” I remind her. “He didn’t say anything about whether or not he thought Doug—or his brother—did it.” Even though I’d taken him aside and, after telling him what I’d observed at last night’s frat party, had added, “It’s obvious that Doug—and Steve, remember what Manuel said, that Steve was the name Lindsay mentioned—killed her for shooting off her mouth about their drug dealing, then left her head as a warning for the rest of their clients. You have to arrest them. You HAVE to!”
Detective Canavan, however, hadn’t appreciated being told that he “had” to do anything. He’d just frowned down at me and said, “I should have known that was you at that party last night. Can’t you go anywhere without causing bedlam?”
At which I took umbrage. Because I’ve been lots of places where fights didn’t break out. Lots of them. Look at me here at the bar across from Fischer Hall.
And okay, it’s only, like, four minutes after five, so hardly anyone else has gotten off work yet and the place is pretty much empty except for us.
But no bedlam has broken out. Yet.
“So when are they going to do it?” Magda wants to know. “Arrest those boys?”
“If they’re going to arrest them,” Pete corrects her.
“But they have to,” Magda says, blinking rapidly over her alcoholic beverage of choice—a White Russian. Pete and I can’t even look at it without gagging a little. “I mean, they took that Kimberly away with them to interview her after she said all those things in front of us… even if she lied to them later, they heard what she told us in the cafeteria.”
“But is that evidence?” Pete asks. “Isn’t that—what do they call it on Law and Order? Hearsay?”
“Are you telling me they didn’t get one fingerprint from that kitchen?” Magda demands. “Not one stray hair they can get DNA from, to find out who did it?”
“Who knows what they found?” I say, mournfully shoving a handful of stale barroom popcorn in my mouth. Why is stale barroom popcorn so delicious, anyway? Especially with a cold beer. “We’ll probably be the last to find out.”
“At least Manuel’s going to be all right,” Pete says. “Julio says he’s getting better every day. Although they still have policemen posted outside his hospital room.”
“What’s he going to do when they discharge him?” Magda wants to know. “They aren’t going to post a policeman by his house, are they?”
“They’ll have to have arrested Doug by then,” Sarah says, from the bar. “I mean, Doug has to be the one who strangled her. The only question is, did he do it accidentally? Like did he asphyxiate her during sexual play, then panic? From what you told me, he doesn’t seem like the type who has much control over his temper—”
“Yeah. Did I mention he totally head-butted me in the gut?” I ask.
“But putting her limbs down a disposal to get rid of the evidence?” Sarah shakes her head. “Doug doesn’t have the brains for something like that—even if it did turn out not to work thanks to the disposal breaking. Oh, my God, foul! FOUL!”
I look up from the empty popcorn basket and notice that Pete and Magda aren’t the only ones staring at Sarah in disbelief. The bartender, Belinda, a punk rock waif with a shaved head and overalls, is blinking at her with astonishment as well.
Sarah notices, looks around, and says defensively, “Excuse me, a person can have multiple interests, you know. I mean, I can be interested in psychology and sports, too. It’s called being well-rounded, people.”
“More popcorn?” Belinda asks her, looking pretty scared for someone with so many nose rings.
“Uh, no,” Sarah says. “That stuff is stale.”
“Um,” I say, “I’ll take some. Thanks.”
“On that note,” Pete says, rising from his chair, “I have to get home before my kids tear the place apart. Magda, you want a ride to the subway?”
“Oh, yes,” Magda says, getting up as well.
“Wait,” I protest. “I just got more popcorn!”
“Sorry, honey,” Magda says, struggling into her faux-rabbit fur coat. “But it’s about twelve degrees out there. I’m not walking to the subway. See you on Monday.”
“See you guys,” I say mournfully, watching them leave. I’d leave, too, but I still have half a beer left. You can’t just leave a beer like that. It’s un-American.
Except a minute later I’m regretting not having made my escape when I had the chance, since the door opens, and who should walk in but…
Jordan.
“Oh, there you are,” he says, spotting me at once. Which isn’t hard, since I’m the only one in the bar, with the exception of Sarah and a couple of Math Department types, who are playing pool. Jordan slides into the chair Pete just vacated, and explains, as he peels off his jacket, “Cooper told me you sometimes come here after work.”
I glare at him over my beer. I don’t know why. I guess it’s just that he mentioned Cooper’s name. Cooper’s not high on my list of favorite people right now.
Actually, neither is his brother.
“Nice place,” Jordan says, looking around. It’s clear he’s being sarcastic. Jordan’s idea of a nice place is the bar at the Four Seasons. Which isn’t exactly in my price range. Anymore.
“Well, you know me,” I say, more lightly than I feel. “Only the best.”
“Yeah.” Jordan stops looking around and looks at me instead. This is somehow worse. I know I’m not exactly ravishing at the moment. Last night’s wild ride didn’t do much for the bags under my eyes, and I didn’t actually wash my hair this morning. Instead, I washed it the night before, to get the smell of Tau Phi House cigarette smoke out of it. Sleeping on my hair while wet has a way of making it look… well, sort of matted the next day. Add that to the fact that I’m wearing my second-best pair of jeans—I still haven’t managed to replace the ones with the blood-stained knees—which aren’t exactly loose, to the point where I have to constantly worry about camel toe, and you have the picture.
But Jordan’s no prize today, either. He’s got dark circles where I’ve got bags, and his case of hat head is even worse than mine. His blond hair is sticking up in tufts all over his head.
“You want a beer?” I ask him, since Belinda is looking over at us questioningly.
“Oh, God, no,” Jordan says, and shudders. “I’m never drinking again after last night. I seriously think someone slipped something in my drink. I only had that one—”
“You told me you had ten glasses of wine before you even got downtown,” I remind him.
“Yeah,” Jordan says, with a So what? look on his face. “That’s what I have most nights. I’ve never been as blotto as I was last night.”
“Why would someone roofie you?” I ask. “It’s not exactly like you’re unwilling to have sex with strangers.”
He glares at me. “Hey, now,” he says. “That’s not fair. And I don’t know why someone would do it. Maybe it was, like, an ugly girl, or someone I wouldn’t ordinarily go with.”
“I didn’t see any ugly girls at that party.” Then I brighten. “Maybe it was one of the guys! Frats are known hotbeds of latent homosexuality.”
Jordan makes a face. “Please, Heather… let’s just drop it, okay? Suffice it to say, I’m never drinking again.”
“Well, that will make the champagne toasts tomorrow a bit of a letdown,” I say.
Jordan fingers the initials someone has carved into the tabletop, not meeting my gaze. “Look, Heather,” he says. “About last night—”
“I don’t know where your skis went, Jordan,” I say. “I called Waverly Hall and the guard said no one left any skis there, so obviously someone stole them. I’m really sorry, but you know—”
He flinches. I think it’s because I’ve spoken so loudly.
“I don’t care about the stupid skis,” he says. “I’m talking about us.”
I blink at him. Then I remember that Cooper must have driven him home this morning.
Oh, no.
“Jordan,” I say quickly. “I am not still in love with you. I don’t care what Cooper told you, okay? I mean, sure, I used to be in love with you. But that was a long time ago. I’ve moved on—”
He blinks at me. “Cooper? What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t he give you a ride home this morning?”
“Yeah. But we didn’t talk about you. We talked about Mom and Dad. It was nice. I haven’t talked to Cooper—just one-on-one—like that in a long time. I think we worked out some things. Our differences, I mean. We both agreed that we’re nothing alike—but that that’s all right. Whatever his relationship with Mom and Dad… well, it’s no reason he and I can’t get along.”
I stare at him. I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing. Cooper can’t stand Jordan. I mean, to the point of refusing to take his calls or open the door when he comes over.
“Wow,” I say. “That’s… that’s… well, progress. Good for you.”
“Yeah,” Jordan says. He continues to finger the graffiti. “I think I talked him into coming to the wedding tomorrow. I mean, he didn’t agree to be my best man, like I asked, but he said he’d come.”
I’m genuinely shocked. Cooper can’t stand his family, and now he’s planning on attending a big blowout wedding at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, with a reception at the Plaza, in their company? Those are so not his type of events… .
“Well,” I say. Because I really don’t know what else to say. “That’s… that’s amazing, Jordan. Really. I’m so happy for you.”
“It really means a lot to me,” Jordan says. “The only thing better would have been if… well, if you would have agreed to come tomorrow, Heather.”
I clutch my beer. “Oh, Jordan,” I say. “That’s so sweet. But—”
“That’s why it’s so hard for me to say what I’m about to say,” Jordan goes on, as if I hadn’t spoken. “And that’s this. Heather.” He reaches across the table to grip the hand that isn’t curled around my pint glass, then looks earnestly into my eyes. “It really hurts me to say this, but… I can’t let you come to my wedding tomorrow.”
I blink at him. “Jordan,” I say. “I—”
“Please let me finish,” Jordan says, squeezing my hand. “It isn’t that I don’t want you there, Heather. More than anyone in the world, I want you there. You’re the person I’ve been closest to for the longest in my life. If there’s anyone I want to be by my side for the most important event of my life, it’s you.”
“Um, Jordan,” I say. “I’m flattered. I really am. But shouldn’t the person you most want at your side for this be—”
“It’s Tania,” Jordan interrupts.
“Right,” I say. “That’s what I mean. Shouldn’t Tania be the person you most want at your side? Considering she’s the one you’re—”
“No, I mean Tania is the one who doesn’t want you there,” Jordan says. “Not after last night. See, she wasn’t too happy when she found out I spent the night with you—”
“Oh, my God, Jordan!” I burst out, yanking my hand away from him, and glancing quickly toward Sarah and Belinda to make sure they haven’t overheard. “You didn’t spend the night with me! You spent it on your brother’s living room couch!”
“I know that,” Jordan says, having the dignity to flush. “But Tania doesn’t believe it. See, Tania thinks you’re still in love with me, and—”
“Oh, my God!” I cry again. “What is it with everybody thinking I’m still in love with you? I’m so not! I fell out of love with you way before I ever walked in and saw Tania with your—”
“Hey, now,” Jordan says, ducking his head as the two math geeks look over at us interestedly. “No need for that kind of language.”
“Seriously, though, Jordan,” I say. “I fell out of love with you that time we were touring in Japan, remember, and you kept going to visit all those temples. Only they weren’t really temples, were they?”
Jordan’s flush deepens. “No. I didn’t know you knew. You never said anything.”
I shrug. “What was there to say? Besides, I thought maybe you’d work it out of your system. But you didn’t.”
“I just never knew any woman could do that with a ping-pong ball,” Jordan says, in a dreamy voice.
“Yes,” I say briskly. “Well, fortunately for you, Tania is a girl of many talents.”
His fiancée’s name snaps him out of his reverie, as I’d known it would.
“So you’re really all right with it?” he asks me, with a worried expression. “Not coming to the wedding?”
“Jordan, I never had any intention of coming your wedding tomorrow. Remember? Itold you that. Like five times.”
He reaches out to grasp my hand again. “Heather,” he says, gazing into my bloodshot eyes with his own. “I can’t tell you what this means to me. It proves that, no matter what you say, you do care about me… at least a little. And I hope you’ll believe me when I say I’m sorry things turned out this way. But it’s time for me to start my new life, with my new partner. If it’s any comfort to you at all, I hope that someday you, too, will find someone to share your life with… .”
“Jordan,” I say, leaning forward to pat his hand. “I have found that someone. Her name is Lucy.”
Jordan makes a face and lets go of my hand. “I mean a man, Heather, not a dog. Why do you always have to make a joke out of everything?”
“I don’t know,” I say, with a sigh. “That’s just the kind of girl I am, I guess. You’re lucky you escaped when you did.”
Jordan looks at me sadly, shaking his head. “You’ll never go back to the way you used to be when we first met, will you? You were so sweet back then. Never cynical.”
“That’s because back then my boyfriend didn’t feel like he was missing out on the fact that I never did vaginal tricks with a ping-pong ball,” I tell him.
“That’s it,” Jordan says, putting his jacket back on and standing up. “I’m leaving. I’ll see you… well. Later.”
“After you get back from the honeymoon,” I say. “Where are you going, anyway?”
Jordan can’t seem to make eye contact. “Japan. Tania’s touring.”
“Well,” I say. “Ja mata.”
Scowling, Jordan storms from the bar. Only when he’s gone does Sarah turn her attention from the game (there’s a commercial), and says “Jesus Christ. What did you say to him, anyway?”
I shrug. “Goodbye.”